Demons in the Waters
by Sarahjane
Summary: Does anyone know the *real* Trip?
1. Demons in the Waters

DISCLAIMER: All recognizable characters are the property of Paramount, all others are the product of my sleep-deprived, physics-homework-avoiding brain.  
  
Demons in the Waters  
  
At night, when the ship is quiet and everyone is asleep, I imagine that I can still hear her cries. Never mind that she is light-years away or that sound doesn't travel in space. When I close my eyes and try to will myself to sleep, I can still hear her.  
  
'Charlie...Charlie...' The very hull of the ship seems to echo her voice. 'Charlie...Charlie...'  
  
It's those nights when every bolt of the ship whispers her plea that I spend wide-awake, begging my tired body to fall asleep but unable to relinquish my hold on consciousness, unwilling to shut out her voice.  
  
'Charlie...Charlie...'  
  
So instead I lie awake, staring into the endless black of the night, thinking about her. How could I not? How could I ever forget her? The truth is that I never do, she's always hovering on the outside of my thoughts even though I do my best to push her out of my head. But when I hear her voice in the walls, all of my memories of her coming rushing back.  
  
I am twenty-four years old again, living in that tiny cubicle just a few blocks from Starfleet Headquarters. Fresh out of college and training to be a Starfleet officer, but I have plenty of baggage along for the ride. I feel as though I am surrounded by a thick fog that obscures everything in my path. The life has been drained out of me bit by bit, so slowly that I didn't even notice it was happening until it was already gone. Oh, I might smile and put on a good show, good ol' Trip Tucker, always laughing and ready for a good time...but underneath all that I'm Charlie, the kid who hasn't had a good night's sleep in years, who walks around with the world on his shoulders.  
  
Looking back, I don't know how I did it. I still can't believe that I managed to get out of bed every morning, let alone work, study, and take care of everything. Those days are a blur to me, one great big headache. I lived in a daze and had been since...God, since I was about eighteen. I had to drink at least four cups of coffee every day just to stay conscious, more if there was something big going on. And I worked and studied so hard that I felt myself being pulled into a million directions at once, until more than once I found myself staring at a bottle of aspirin and wondering what was to stop me from swallowing the whole damn thing.  
  
Of course there was a reason: Taylor. I couldn't bring myself to do that to her. She needed me, far more than any normal eighteen-year-old should need her big brother, but there it was. I laugh to myself. Normal. Mom leaves when our family's fortune disappears under our feet, Dad shoots himself, Will runs away to Scotland leaving me to take care of our schizophrenic sister Taylor, and I still try to pretend that we are a normal family.  
  
I'm 34 years old and I still want a normal family. Oh, we can pretend with Will and his wife and kids, but there's still Taylor, locked away in a nut house in San Francisco. Putting her there was the hardest thing I'd ever done. I'd been fighting her doctors for years, arguing that I could take care of her myself. Ha. All that I managed to do was practically kill both of us. There was never enough money so we were always either cold or hungry or both. Even worse, though, was having to watch her every second. She tried to kill herself twice, although she would have done it more times if I hadn't been there to wrestle the pills or knife out of her hands. Other times she chased me with the knife, screaming that we were all against her, that she was going to get us all...  
  
I wonder if I will ever get all this out of me. When I look in the mirror, I still see the tired face I woke up to every morning when I had to watch Taylor. Sometimes I would stay up all night, watching her sleep, afraid that if I closed my eyes for just a second everything would be over. I honestly thought that if I tried just a little harder, worked a little harder, then we'd be a family again. I honestly thought she'd get better, but you have to want to be cured for that to happen. Taylor liked being crazy. She begged me not to make her take her meds, and at first I let her. Later though I wised up and started forcing her to swallow them no matter how hard she screamed and fought. I still have the mark from where she sliced open my arm one night. It was her sixteenth birthday, and I'd gotten her a cake and a present. Not much, but it was all I could afford, and to do just that much I had to eat nothing but peanut butter for a month. And instead she spent the night tied up in the psych ward of the hospital. Happy Birthday, Taylor.  
  
I can't really blame Will for leaving. He was scared, or maybe he was just smarter than I was and knew better than to try to take care of Taylor. He sent money once he got settled, but it was always me and Taylor. Even when we were kids, back when the Tucker family was proud and wealthy, it was always Charlie and Taylor, Taylor and Charlie. Back then we didn't know what was wrong with her, just that she was a little strange, but even then I watched out for her. I guess that's why I stuck with her through it all--I just couldn't bear to leave her alone. Even at the end Will had to argue and yell and finally beg me to give up and put her away. "You can't keep doing this, Charlie," he told me, and I knew he was right, hell I'd always known he was right. But it was still hard to admit it, hard to watch the pain in her eyes when we took her there. She was never the same afterwards, her moods came more often and she seemed so listless and unhappy. I visited her at least once a week, but she was always so sad to see me go.  
  
"Charlie..." she'd cry over and over again, those desperate cries that would wake me in the middle of the night, "Charlie...Charlie..." Even now when I sleep I half expect to hear her crying for me.  
  
I've been thinking about her a lot lately. Will promised to check on her, but knowing him he hasn't seen her since I left. And knowing she's there alone...it's enough to wipe away every trace of sleep. God, I just can't escape her, she's got this hold on me, she just keeps dragging me back with her pitiful cries.  
  
'Charlie...Charlie...'  
  
I close my eyes and try desperately to think of something else, anything else.  
  
'Charlie...Charlie...'  
  
I want to scream and throw something. I want to grab a knife and watch my blood dye the sheets red and drip onto the floor. I want to do anything that will get her voice out of my head.  
  
'Charlie...Charlie...'  
  
Is this what it is to be crazy? To hear these voices all the time, to feel that gnawing pain and feel like your going to explode? Just the thought that I might be like her sends a chill up my spine.  
  
'Charlie...Charlie...'  
  
No, I won't surrender to the voices. I can keep this all inside. I've been doing it since I was a kid, ever since I saw my father lying on the floor of his study with his head blown to pieces. There are some things that stay in the family. Even Will knows that. He and I keep our secrets: Mom's leaving, Dad's death, Taylor's insanity. There are some things you don't let the world see no matter how painful it is to keep them inside. So I cover it all up, I flash a grin and let the world see my cheery facade so that they won't even suspect that there are demons in those waters, lying just beneath the surface, waiting to hunt for my soul at night. 


	2. Shadows in the Sea

DISCLAIMER: All recognizable characters are not mine, all others belong solely to moi!  
  
Author's Note: This is a follow-up to Demons in the Waters and is told from Archer's POV. Some slash, nothing obscene or graphic, but just in case you are totally against that kind of thing, don't say I didn't warn you. Please r/r!  
  
Shadows in the Sea  
  
I look back on those days a lot--those carefree days when we were young and naive, training in San Francisco for Starfleet. It didn't matter how hard we worked, how impossible the tasks were, or how grueling the hours were. We laughed and joked our way through it. Not that we didn't work hard--of course we did. Ask anyone and they'll all say that Starfleet training is the most difficult part of their lives...and the most fun. When you're young, everything is one great adventure that you race through with friends by your side and the sun on your face.  
  
Trip and I were together even back then. We spent countless hours hanging out, laughing, and talking with our best friends: wild Jack, cynical Kate, and sweet Caroline. The five of us were a tight-knit group and we spent every available hour together.  
  
Or maybe I should say "the *four* of us". Trip was our friend, but he was different back in those days...kind of distant. He never went out with us for a drink after class, for example. We asked, begged, and teased him mercilessly, but he would just plaster on his easy smile and say that he had something else to do.  
  
"Maybe he's a stripper," Kate offered one Friday night. The four of us had gone out after a particularly killer day, and as always Trip had rejected our invitation. So we had gone on to a small bar across the street from Starfleet HQ. Of course the talk had turned to our absent friend. It always did.  
  
Jack looked thoughtful. "Maybe...he's got a great ass."  
  
The rest of us just laughed. Jack was definitely wilder than the rest of us--we spent fewer nights with someone else put together than he spent alone. He always joked that he was working his way through all of Starfleet and that his goal was to have slept with every officer by the time he made Captain.  
  
"Ooh, Jack has a crush on Trip," Caroline teased.  
  
"Not as bad as you," he countered, grinning as the red rushed into her face. Everyone knew that she was in love with him, but Trip had no clue. It was really kind of sad to watch her smile adoringly at him when she thought that no one else was looking.  
  
"Or maybe he's a monk," Kate offered, pulling attention away from Caroline's crimson face.  
  
"Or a virgin," Jack added.  
  
I made a face. "Come on, how pathetic can you get? Not that his being a virgin," I added, anticipating Jack's response, "but you guys. I mean, it's a Friday night and what are we doing? Sitting in a bar debating Trip's sex life."  
  
Jack shook his head. "What's really sad is that Trip's made-up sex life is a million times more interesting than you guys'. Caroline is harboring a teenage crush on Trip; Kate has sworn off romance, though she hasn't *quite* managed to stick to her resolution--" he grinned at her "--and Jon constantly has his nose in a book."  
  
"And what about you, Mr. Playboy of the Western World?" Kate countered. "All you ever do is brag about alleged conquests and try to get people in bars to go home with you with pathetic pick-up lines."  
  
"Alleged?" Jack feigned shock. "My dear Kate, every one of them was true. Just because you haven't been with anyone since high school doesn't mean that the rest of us have taken vows of celibacy. There are plenty of people looking for a good time."  
  
Kate wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Pig."  
  
"Prude," he countered good-naturedly. The two of them constantly bickered like that, but it was pretty clear that there was a current of sexual tension between them. Kind of like Trip and T'Pol actually. They act like they can't stand each other, but the entire ship knows that eventually they'll go to bed together.  
  
Anyway, I digress. The point is that none of us knew what Trip did after class. He lived in a cubicle just like the rest of us--in fact, Caroline, Trip, and I lived on the same floor. We knew that he went home early every night, but why anyone would choose to go back to a tiny, cramped room instead of hanging out and having fun was a mystery.  
  
It didn't help to ask him, of course. He would just smile, shrug, and say, "I don't know what you're talkin' 'bout. It's not like I have some kinda secret life." And then he would laugh a little a change the subject.  
  
It's not like the rest of us lost sleep wondering about him. It was just who he was--likeable, charismatic, and evasive. We thought about it just long enough to tease him and then forgot about his strange behavior and let our minds turn to more interesting things.  
  
Then one night something changed. A guy showed up at the cubicle building. Jack, Caroline, Kate, and I were returning late one Friday night to find a man pounding on Trip's door. He looked a lot like Trip; when he turned to face us, it was clear that they were related.  
  
"Charlie!" he yelled. "Charlie, it's Will. Let me in!"  
  
Suddenly the door swung open. The room was dim. In the faint light we could see a rumpled form on the bed. The person appeared to be asleep. One arm dangled over the side of the bed. He or she wasn't moving.  
  
"What?" Trip asked tensely. Exhaustion and worry showed clearly on his face. His hand was folded around a thin object, but I couldn't tell what it was.  
  
"Will," he sighed with relief. "Come on in." He moved aside and the two slipped inside.  
  
I don't know how long we stood there. I don't even know if he saw us. I don't think he did; he looked far too preoccupied to have noticed our presence. Finally, we mumbled good bye and walked down the hall to our own cubicles, slightly shaken by what we had seen. We had never seen Trip look so upset, and it seemed to confirm the fact that none of us really knew our friend at all.  
  
*****  
  
None of us saw Trip all weekend. Although he seemed pretty busy, he usually made time to hang out with us. But this weekend his absence was conspicuous. None of us wanted to talk about what we had seen on Friday night, and the unspoken questions made our time together strained and awkward.  
  
On Sunday night I finally decided to look for Trip. I had known him longer than anyone else--we had met during prep squad. Ever since that first sunny day he had always worn the same grin, and the person I had seen on Friday night stood in stark contrast to the man I thought I had known.  
  
I knocked for quite a while before giving up. The problem was that I had no idea where he could be. I stood by his door for a while before deciding to talk to Caroline. Although some people saw her as a foolish schoolgirl hopelessly in love with Trip, I knew that she was a sweet, quietly passionate person who would listen to my fears about my friend unlike Kate and Jack who would brush off my worry as irrational (Kate) or the product of a secret crush (Jack).  
  
I knocked on her door. It took her a while to answer. When she finally did, she was wearing a white tank top and gray pants. Her short blond hair was tousled, and she looked surprised to see me.  
  
"Jon...what are you doing here?"  
  
"I just wanted to talk to you. Can I come in?"  
  
She glanced back, but the door was angled so that I could not see inside. "Now's not really a good time, Jon."  
  
Maybe I should have gotten the hint, but this was Caroline...the only person in our group with a less active sex life than mine. Instead I plowed on. "I'm really worried about Trip...I went to see him, but he's not in his cubicle. Have you seen him?"  
  
"Um, yeah...he's..." She trailed off and again looked over her shoulder.  
  
Trip walked up behind her. He was dressed only from the waist down, and his hair stuck up in all directions. "Yeah, Jon?"  
  
I was completely dumbstruck. "N-nothing...sorry to interrupt." I turned and fled down the hall, even more confused.  
  
*****  
  
That was the end of "Trip the Monk", "Trip the Virgin", "Trip the Mystery". Or maybe it was the beginning. In any case, after that weekend, Trip never again refused an invitation to hang out. In fact, he stayed up until all-hours every night, drinking, flirting...and going to bed with every one on campus.  
  
It's funny how everything can change so quickly. Trip proved to be quite the heartbreaker. Oh sure, Jack was certainly not opposed to casual sex. It's just that whenever he went home with someone, it was just for fun. He never tried to get into a relationship. It was just recreation, a little diversion.  
  
Trip, though...he turned out to be completely different. He dumped Caroline after a couple of weeks...and that was one of his longer relationships. Most times he would wind up with someone one night and the next be with someone completely different. He didn't brag either, like Jack did. He just kept moving, restless, from person to person, staying only as long as it took him to get bored or something, I don't know. But people floated in and out of his bed that year, and every year since. He never seems to get hurt, but the others...that's another story.  
  
Take Caroline for example. After he dumped her, she was never the same. He didn't dump her per se, he just stopped coming by to see her at night. He moved on, and I guess he expected her to move on too. She couldn't, though. Caroline wasn't the kind of girl who had casual flings. She was madly in love with him, and when it turned out that he didn't feel the same way, it crushed her.  
  
Maybe I'm being a little dramatic, but I don't think so. Our whole group wound up that way, as did half of the students in our class. He had sex with more of them than I can count, and when he inevitably moved on they always cried a little. Kate cried buckets after he stopped sleeping with her. Even Jack seemed a little different, his smile the next morning a little forced. Trip just had that affect on people. He drew them towards him so fiercly that when he pulled away, it was as though he had ripped out a part of their hearts.  
  
I was the only member of our group whom he didn't sleep with, and I was the only one to stick with him. Caroline eventually stopped hanging out with us, explaining that it was just too hard now. So did Kate. Jack hung on longer; he still went out with us months after it was over between him and Trip. But he definitely was not the same. I could see the pain in his eyes when Trip would walk up to someone, sit down, and turn on his charm. Eventually even he left.  
  
Sometimes I'm jealous of them, of all the countless people who have found their way to Trip's bed. He always steered clear of me, and I've always wondered why. But out of all of the people in his life, I have lasted the longest, so maybe I should be thankful that he never turned his charms on me.  
  
Of course, that's poor consilation some nights when I lie alone in bed and wonder if I'll ever have someone special in my life. I think about Trip and my stomach twists a little. I'm not blind; I can see why so many have fallen under his spell. His soft accent and trademark grin have wooed thousands, including me. It's not like I'm pining away or anything, but on lonely nights these thoughts creep into my head and won't go away. Truth is, I'm not sure I want to get rid of them. I've given up on his being attracted to me, but sometimes this dream makes it easier to sleep at night, as though it might someday come true.  
  
Then again, I know that it would be a bad idea. I would just wind up in his reject pile, and then I would lose my best friend. Besides, I still don't know him, not really. I've never asked him about that night, and I don't think that I ever will. I want to know him, I want to know that pain in his eyes. I know that somewhere in him that scared, weary person still exists, but he keeps that part of himself shielded from everyone, even me.  
  
Trip's a heartbreaker to the core--he lets people get close but makes sure that no one ever gets a glimpse of his heart. Even me who wants to know what lies under that calm surface so much can't get inside him. He's as much of a mystery as when Jack, Caroline, Kate, and I would sit around pondering Trip's secret life.  
  
*Maybe he's a stripper...or a monk...or a virgin...*  
  
I smile at our naivete. Trip has a secret far deeper than anything that our young minds could have imagained, I know that. And sometimes I imagine that I can see pain on his face, and I know that it's eating him alive. But he doesn't tell anyone, doesn't let anyone close enough to really know him. What lies under his cheerful exterior remains a mystery, like shadows in the sea. 


	3. Reflections on the Surface

DISCLAIMER: All recognizable characters are not mine, all others are.  
  
Author's Note: This is the third part of my Demons series. It contains more mention of slash, but it's PG-13 level (nothing graphic, obscene, or explicit). Still, don't say I didn't warn you. This one is from Trip's point of view. In case anyone is wondering, I never intended for this to get past one chapter, but what can I say--when the muse comes, don't argue.  
  
Reflections on the Surface  
  
I've been staring at the ceiling for a long time now. The whispers surround me, and so my eyes stay open even though I am completely exhausted. I really wish that I could fall asleep, especially because I know that I'll pay for it tomorrow. Just once I'd like to be able to start the day without jumpstarting my body with caffeine, but as long as I stay awake all night that is definitely not going to happen. Oh, the many joys of insomnia.  
  
My thoughts are drifting a lot like they normally do...Taylor...Will...Mom and Dad...summers in Martha's vineyard...hide-and-go-seek games through the sturdy trees on the sprawling lawn...the pain in my father's eyes when my mother left just before he pulled the trigger...  
  
I shudder and try to think about something else. My mind falls on my memories of my friends when I was training for Starfleet. Fine. Whatever. Thinking about those times takes me far from the pain of my family, and that's all I ever try and to every moment of every day.  
  
Of course Jon is the first thing that pops into my head. I've known him so long...longer than I can really remember. Of course, that was a conscious decision on my part. I wasn't blind, I've definitely looked at him in a way that betrayed more affection than can be chalked up to friendship, but I always stopped myself from thinking about him that way. I didn't want to ruin our relationship the way that I ruined every other relationship I ever had.  
  
I guess it's really all my fault that I was never with someone for more than a few weeks. The person with whom I hold that record for consecutive nights was actually the first person I was with after Taylor left, Caroline. She was a sweet girl, and yes, I did have an idea that she liked me. I wasn't *that* stupid. That was why I went to her. I could have found someone to talk to--Jon was the first person who came to mind--but instead I found myself knocking on her door. A few moments later we were rolling around in the sheets. Simple.  
  
I broke up with her a few weeks later. It wasn't like I planned to do it, but I realized that I had to end things with her fast. I wasn't about it let someone inside and break down the barriers I had spent so long creating around my heart. It was really pretty simple. We were in bed together asleep one night. I was having a bad dream, and I must have cried out because the next thing I remember is Caroline's gently shaking me awake. There was a look of concern on her pale face. "Trip, what's wrong?" she asked, and I really wanted to tell her. I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted--no, I needed--someone to tell all of this to.  
  
But I just shrugged away her concern and went back to sleep. The next day I simply stopped kissing her, stopped coming to her bed at night. And just like that it was over.  
  
After that I jumped from one person to another, always careful to leave before I got emotionally involved. For me it was always about sex. All I wanted was to screw someone until I was so tired that I fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. So that I didn't hear Taylor's voice at night. But for some reason the other person never seemed to share my intentions. Even Jack. I fell into bed with him because I knew that he had a long string of meaningless, purely sexual relationships. I thought that at least he could understand what I wanted and not get too attached. But no, even Jack was hurt when I left. I've never understood it. I didn't mean to hurt any of them. It just kind of happened. I never pretended that I wanted anything besides a few fun nights, but no matter what I did I couldn't stop myself from hurting them.  
  
That's why I've always been careful to keep away from Jon. It's not like I'm not interested; he's very attractive, and I've thought about it seriously more than once. But my relationship with Jon is the only one I haven't managed to ruin. I depend on him more than I think I've ever depended on anyone. He's my best friend, and if it weren't for him I don't know if I could keep going. He doesn't know my secrets; I've never told him anything, but I think that he knows that I am keeping something from him. I've thought many times about telling him everything, but something always stops me, the same thing that stopped me from spilling my guts to Caroline all those years ago. Deep down I'm afraid that I'll just lose him if I try to let him see anything beyond what lies on the surface. I've already lost a lot of friends: Caroline, Kate, Jack, Andy, Ashley, Megan, Dana, Chris...The last thing I need to do is add Jon's name.  
  
So even if I catch myself staring at him and daydreaming a little when we're alone together, I never let myself act on my feelings. I never tell him how I feel, and I'm always careful to keep the barrier around my heart. And as far as I know I've been pretty successful. I don't think that he knows how I feel about him, and I've never shared my secrets with him. No matter how great the temptation has been, I've always kept some distance between us, and as far as I'm concerned that's how it will always be. I've already lost everyone who's ever been important to me. I've ruined enough relationships for one lifetime. I'm not about to end this one because my bed feels empty and cold at night. I won't throw away years of friendship because I can't keep my hands to myself. I won't lose only person I have left in my life because of love. 


	4. Troubled Waters

DISCLAIMER: All recognizable characters are not mine, all others are.  
  
Spoilers: Some for Oasis  
  
Author's Note: I *finally* decided to write another part to this. I felt bad about leaving it on such an open note, so I think I'll try to tie up the loose ends. I'm trying to move away from the slash in the second and third parts and towards more what the first part was about. I still don't know what prompted me to write Parts 2 and 3 the way I did since I had no intention of introducing that stuff at all. I blame hallucinagenic spores and leave it at that.  
  
  
  
Troubled Waters  
  
I've been thinking about what Liana said to me for days now. Now when I lie in bed, desperately trying to get some sleep, it's her voice that I hear over and over again.  
  
"Do you think it's possible to tell a lie so many times you begin to believe it's the truth?"  
  
Funny, she didn't realize who she was talking to. I've been lying to everyone, even to myself, almost all of my life. Even Jon thinks that I have a great family: loving parents, close brother, adorable niece and nephew. Even my best friend doesn't know the truth. Hell, sometimes even *I* forget the truth. We all play our parts so well that it's hard to remember that we aren't the perfect family, that the Tuckers have more than their share of family secrets. And not little ones, like sometimes drinking too much or sleeping around. Big ones, the kind that destroy people.  
  
Those secrets sure destroyed us. The proud Tucker family, reduced to nothing. At school I had to listen to the whispers and see the stares that followed me wherever I went. That's Charlie Tucker, his father lost their entire fortune and then shot himself, his mother left them, his sister is insane . . . God I was glad to get out of there, far away from the prying eyes and the endless whispers. I dragged Taylor across the country to California while I went to CalTech and then Starfleet training. There nobody knew us, no one knew that once we had been the richest kids in town. No one knew about our erratic father who gambled everything we had and lost, who shot himself rather than face what he had done. No one knew about our beautiful mother who had walked out of the house an hour after our father died and never once looked back. No one knew about Taylor's breakdown, how I had found her screaming and crying in the bathroom with a bottle of aspirin and a gun to her head. We could hide all of that in the bright California sunshine, smile and pretend that everything was fine.  
  
And then the day came when Taylor didn't take her pills. An accident, or so she told me. But I think that at least part of her knew what she was doing. She hated the tired, dazed feeling that came with the medicine, and after she missed that first dose, she never wanted to take another. At first I didn't fight her too much, but then she started to scare me. I would sit on her, pin her down, and force the pills into her mouth every morning. I begged and pleaded her to take them only to have her spit them out in my face. What really scared me, though, was when she hid them. She would smile and tell me to leave, and then I'd come home and find her eyes too bright, her smile too wide. She nearly killed herself several times while I was in college, including once when she set fire to the apartment in the middle of the night. We both wound up in the ER that night, telling the police over and over again that it had been an accident, that I couldn't cook and had accidently screwed up the stove. They didn't believe me for a second, but what could they do about it? The doctors and psychiatrists went nuts every time we came in there, but every time we managed to walk out, even though I knew it was just a matter of time before one of us wound up dead.  
  
And then I dragged her to San Francisco. I promised her that it would only be another year, then I wouldn't have to work so hard, I'd get a posting at a construction site and take her with me . . . over and over again the words poured out of me, trying to comfort her. I had to lock her up in that little cubicle. For six months she did not see another person. For six months she did not go outside once. And I still thought that I could take care of us, that everything would be all right, that we could be a happy family . . .   
  
And then came the night that everything fell apart. She screamed and tried to kill herself, tried to kill me. I thought I would die that night. I prayed over and over again to a god I had long ago stopped believing in. The five years I'd been on my own had taught me not to look to anyone else for help.  
  
But help came in the form of my younger brother, Will. Will saw the truth, saw what I was so afraid to see -- that it was over, that Taylor had to go away. And part of me died when I saw her tied to the stretcher as they wheeled her upstairs, her one long scream of agony and fear ringing through the halls.  
  
"Charlie . . . "  
  
And yet life went on, or at least my hollow imitation of it. I went to class, took tests, and worked hard to be a Starfleet officer. The only difference was that now I spent as little time in my own room as possible. Taylor's voice haunted me in there, and I sought comfort at the bar with my friends, drinking and sleeping with practically everyone in my class. Only when I was drunk or completely physically exhausted did I sleep without dreaming. Otherwise that cry echoed through my head all night long until I wanted to shoot myself.  
  
"Charlie . . . "  
  
Of course I never let anyone see that part of me. I played my part perfectly. I was the typical sex-driven twenty-something-year-old guy. I was carefree, cheerful Trip, the happy-go-lucky southern boy who always had a smile and a witty comeback. I lost myself in the part, burying Charlie underneath my carefully created layers of Trip until even I sometimes forgot who I really was. Until sometimes I could forget about Taylor.  
  
"Do you think it's possible to tell a lie so many times you begin to believe it's the truth?"  
  
I almost start laughing from the absurdity of it all. Liana's secret was nothing compared to mine. Who's did hers hurt? No one. But mine . . . it ripped my family apart and sent Will, Taylor, and me spiraling out of control. Will and I work hard to hide it, but sometimes I can see the pain in Will's eyes. Neither one of us mention Taylor or Mom or Dad, but the memories are always there, haunting me, torturing me until I want to scream.  
  
And Taylor? Taylor's gone now . . . The words sound strange. She's gone, she's gone, and she's never coming back. The letter from the hospital is still on my computer. 'Dear Mr. Tucker, We regret to inform you . . . ' The words are so cold and hollow. They don't mention how Taylor must have screamed when I stopped visiting her every week or how pale she must have been when they found her, her body cold and lifeless. I found her like that twice, and twice they brought her back, but this time . . . jumping through a plate glass window and falling six stories is apparently a much more effective way to kill yourself than simple pills or slitting your wrists.  
  
The voices are even worse tonight. They scream and scream and scream, and I haven't even turned off the lights yet to go to bed. That's when they really get loud, once all of the day's distractions are gone. I can hear her scream so clearly, and see her pale body falling, blood dripping from her cuts, her pale hair blown back in the wind. Did she scream as she fell? Or did she have that strange look of serenity that she wore those times I found her nearly dead in the bathroom? Did she plan to do it, or was it a sudden decision? Did she cry? Was she scared? A thousand questions . . . I have to fight the urge to call the hospital and scream them to her doctor to try to drown out the biggest question: Why wasn't I there? How could I have left her?  
  
I slam my head on the desk. I see tears on the smooth surface, but I hadn't noticed that I was crying until this moment. Now I can taste the saltiness and feel the drowning wall of water. The tears fall faster now, and I can't control them. I cry for Taylor, for Dad, for Will . . . but mostly for me, left behind to face all of this. Will has a wife and kids, but I feel so alone. I've never told anyone about Taylor; I hid her very existence perfectly. But I feel the facade breaking, and when I look in the mirror, it is Charlie who stares back and not Trip.  
  
God, I need help, I'm losing my mind, everything's spinning and I can't think anymore I just need help is this what Taylor felt? this dizziness and confusion and drowning and I'm going insane what's wrong with me . . .   
  
"HELP ME!"  
  
I realize I screamed those last words. I blink, feeling like when I was a kid and I would reach the surface after diving into the water and trying to touch the bottom. And suddenly everything is clear and I know what I have to do.  
  
*****  
  
I find myself standing outside of Jon's quarters. I don't really know how I got there, but he's standing in the doorway in his pajamas.  
  
"Trip?" he asks, squinting. "What are you doing here? What time is it?"  
  
"Can I come in?"  
  
"Sure." He leads me inside, turns the lights on halfway, and sits on the edge of the bed. He doesn't say anything, just waits.  
  
I stand by the desk, staring at the models and pictures. All of Jon's dreams are on those shelves. His life seems so simple, so free . . .   
  
I almost chicken out right then, but instead I find myself taking a deep breath.  
  
"Did I ever tell you I had a sister?"  
  
  
  
A/N -- I like my stories to have a definitive ending, so here it is. I hoped you liked it. Again, I'm not quite sure why Parts 2 and 3 turned out so slashy. I kind of got off-track from what I intended to write about, but I complain so much about my muse's abandoning me that I guess I shouldn't be too picky about the inspiration she does give me. I know I kind of ignored Trip's feelings for Archer, but I decided in Part 3 that they wouldn't get together because it would ruin their friendship, and Trip realizes that friendship is what he really needs right now. Anyway, what did you think? Please r/r! 


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